I am honoured to carry a new life within me.
The conception of an idea, that in fact has been the only thing I have gestated for as long as I can remember.
But I now find myself contracting with what feels like the arrival of the Midwife I am.
Always have been, but havent really seen.
It’s taken some deep reflections to begin to clear my own emotional view on my ability to deliver.
My intuitive waters have, been like the weather outside.
I can feel the pressure of them about to rupture.
I expect no different.
I know the process of labour.
The transition that is coming.
Necessary to create.
I’ve seen it from all angles and perspectives.
Having been present at the delivery of many souls.
This time of year is always busy.
And a favourite for me on a personal level.
Heading, or is it “crowning “into Pisces season.
Psychic, moon like illusionary energy of the Hanged Man.
We are also experiencing Mercury going retrograding.
Classic Heyoka backward energy!
But that’s the thing.
This winged messenger isnt delving into the past.
But slowing down.
Giving us all the opportunity to see our own communication.
To go within and be heard.
A process needed and reflected, in the collective oceans.
It’s not all clear.
Based on beliefs, and the fish we have fed from.
This is an opportunity to look at which stories, trawled over, are to be cast forward if any.
And yes, in the year of the mighty Emperor, I do mean IF any!
Now is a time to “toe” the line.
Change the reel hooking you.
This is the year to do it!
Well no, that isnt the case.
All moments are.
But with the energy of Death and the Emperor behind us, there as support encouraging us to push.
To look at the school of knowledge and lessons we are passing forward.
Not just for us but the generations to come.
Our childrens children.
The last emperor year 2002, myself, as I am now, aligned in my own age of 22, saw me become a Midwife.
Found me homeless.
Moved me back in with my mother.
And left me raising my son alone.
I had no money.
No idea where I was going.
And this glorious creation, I had birthed along with my current life seemed somewhat of a heavy burden.
I felt “bad”
But we don’t speak about that.
The depression or deep rest required in the creative process.
Not quite being where we would like to be, despite birthing everything we once wanted.
The guilt for questioning “what we have done!”
In fact, it is here, post- delivery, we need the most support.
Feed our own growth.
To release the stages that got us there.
Be present through this rite of passage.
And ensure we want to “try” again.
My miraculous manifestation will be celebrating his Earth day on the 2nd of March.
I say miraculous, because that’s what he was and is.
Told I would never “fall”.
If I did, I wouldn’t go to term.
My “Farmer of the Land” now stands over 6ft tall and was the easiest, most immaculate manifestation, I have ever had.
But after his birth, I struggled to look at him.
Worried I had done something “wrong”
Having gone so deep within, to collect his soul, when I returned, I felt out of my depths.
The love pouring through my body beyond anything my heart had felt.
And this is where my own judgement began.
I felt scared.
I had to be more than I had ever been.
Stretch myself as a woman, mother, person, soul.
I didn’t feel up to the task.
My own Hanged man, has and continues to show me so much about myself as a Midwife.
But I have often, like any “wise woman”, be it an idea, new job, relationship or life- questioned the situations I deliver.
Could I have been more loving.
More, more, more.
And the truth is, most likely, but it takes walking the path to realise this.
The tears that come from living with what we have created.
To do that takes faith.
And a little bit of Death.
To birth a little more, less, less, less.
To release what we are “expecting”, the stories we are carrying.
Not to rebirth them.
But absorb their medicine and finally deliver the lessons behind them.
The placenta of what fed the idea in the first place.
Freeing them back to the one within and around us, they are no longer separate and the pain of the final stage ends.
My own came a few weeks back.
I knew it would I could feel the cramping.
Beginning with another birth-like all endings- my own drum.
Supporting a group on Facebook with their potential, I realised I too needed to push.
Rather than watch from a distance to gain knowledge as dear Odin once had- I was now to look at my own teachings.
To distribute my own wheel and prove that I knew and could take my own medicine.
During one of the many meditations I experienced a vision of two physical gifts.
One a tattoo, I have seen for some time.
Related to a past life and the Cherokee rose.
The other a drum.
I had believed it was to be from the horse, as this is what I had asked for.
What I longed to deliver.
Yet when corresponding my higher self-had suggested buffalo.
There was none.
Until I arrived, there in front of me was the skin, my skin, I was to carry and lace with a supporting story.
The question was which one.
Who was to be the Midwife behind this vibration.
I had tuned in and felt such light.
I felt unworthy.
In ceremony I had felt drawn to place the hoop around my shoulders.
Visualising the mighty oak from where it came.
My heart now constricted; my arms crossed in a sacrificial pose.
I sought guidance, much like the Hanged Man.
What was it I needed to expel.
The tree, so glorious in my mind’s eye, swaying back and forth, rooted yet free.
Continued to ask me why I had placed myself in this position.
Why I had limited my heart space.
I longed to arrive through the hoop.
Rather than birth the drum, I now needed deliverance.
Not my fear.
Or the sheer perceived size of my hips.
Worried about breaking the sacred circle.
From myself, and for some time I sat, releasing the waters of my soul from my eyes.
And in unnecessary pain.
Feeling the shame of being “too much” in my womb area.
I sobbed with the agony in my current cysts and such anger at my own imposed restrictions.
Surrendering I pushed.
With guidance from my barked ancestor, and through such a small space, stepped into the new soul I AM.
Yet I knew there was more to come!
Holding the buffalo against my higher heart I heard how the journey would be hard.
Reminded of my first awareness with White buffalo calf Woman.
A suicide attempt, a result of separation from my mother, I had “felt unworthy”
I knew like this magnificent creature, we both shared tougher skin.
We had both walked the plains of the deserted, in different ways.
Facing inner child energies and much anger.
I oiled my hoop.
Cutting and weaving the skin had become easy- a little too simple.
The story had slotted into the back of the drum like it belonged- I questioned this- and applied pressure.
Pulling as tight as I could.
I marvelled at my perfect symmetry.
Forgetting the intention of conceiving a tool to aid others love themselves.
When we returned, my skin had broken.
Along with my heart.
I was to do it all again.
I didn’t know if I even wanted to try.
The anger, pain, disbelief in me rose.
Repeated patterns of knowing it wouldn’t be that easy.
That I couldnt just “fit in”
Feeling abandoned and lost.
So many others finishing, I detached from the process completely.
I no longer wanted this mis-shaped strung “thing” in front of me, with all its flaws.
But I carried on, avoiding how I felt.
Ashamed of my emotions.
A little heavier in my heart with each contraction.
I finished producing “another healing tool”
Or so I thought.
Driving home- avoiding a large flood.
Deciding I had experienced enough water for the day, I took the back roads amidst a huge storm.
The Heyoka rain smashing against my window, so I could no longer see.
Returning half an hour later, opposite the depths I had denied, my journey had absorbed more than I had realised.
Getting onto the motorway, no hard shoulder for support- my car- my physical vessel gave up, and in truth so did I.
Sobbing, I rang my husband.
Exclaiming I didn’t know what to do whilst doing it ( funny how we do this!)
I reached into my bag and rang the recovery.
But the calvary weren’t coming, suggesting it was an insurance concern.
Panicking at my 10 percent battery, sitting in the mud, waiting for my husband to ring back I cried even more.
The police that had arrived in time to inform the now more compliant “services” of my location, had left.
I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face.
And sat on a reservation.
What else was there for it but to do this.
Right into my heart space.
I could feel White Buffalo calf woman.
The Christ consciousness.
Pushing past my low esteem.
I found myself in the very centre of my own medicine wheel.
The void, the OM, the soul.
Going into my body.
I began to warm up.
My heart expanded.
Trust filling my every sensation.
I had this.
I held me.
I heard me.
My needs met, by me.
And in this space of connection to a faith far deeper than any religion, I began to go into trance.
Becoming aware of a past memory
I let it play out in front of me.
Witnessing, observing, crying, I saw a familiar soul.
Walking amongst many, in the rain, starving, cold, alone, unheard.
Carrying a child, passed, from malnutrition.
Her tears becoming white flowers upon the ground.
The Cherokee Rose.
The other physical gift.
Recognition of the Mother unable to nurture her child.
Heard by Great spirit.
My heart opened like it never had.
Coming back to the present, with this reminder, I called out to the skies.
Within ten minutes, my recovery arrived.
Moving my drum to avoid squashing by the “aid”
I felt sudden immense love.
For the pain birthed through this night on more levels than even I could realise.
Driving, through the roads of my grandmother’s family, I never felt safer than I did on my arrival.
Not because of the warm fire.
The arms of my husband- the only person I know that can hold space when I “loose it”.
But for the very energy beneath me.
In that moment I reconnected to my mother.
My Earth mother.
I felt truth, knowing I was exactly where I was meant to be.
In each moment, within me.
Comfortable in my own skin.
It wasn’t until later that night in the news I heard of another soul that had taken their lives.
The pressure, judgement and tension of being unable to be themselves on all levels.
The unimaginable fear of feeling separate from their own light and divinity.
And I found myself wondering how much longer this original wound would continue.
Whether through the media, family, peers, our ourselves.
This pain of separation.
Feeling of not being part of something “good” or holy or perfect.
Would it ever leave the collective subconscious.
I know, all I can do is my part.
Like so many.
Help those that are ready to birth their inner salka in an environment that empowers them to be who they are.
To hold space while they surrender to their own soul and knowing that it was and is always there as part of them.
In all they do.
My car, having had its high tension repaired is now working.
Like my drum the old story had become too much.
And now has energy coming through that is cleaner firing up all four cylinders.
My own flow in reflection is becoming easier.
I’m getting ready for my liberation.
It’s coming, for us all.
I always birth around March, this morning I woke feeling full.
And it wasn’t from the joys of spring.
But the individual and collective worry or fear of things becoming too much.
I know this feeling- I’ve birthed through it, many times, and helped others do the same.
Like the illusion of the moon this shadow isn’t truth.
Truth doesn’t need defending or regression.
This is the papoose of miscommunication behind what occurred.
This belongs to Death.
Several times in my life I have pondered on the things I have created.
Debated whether the effects were karmic.
Something we need to push through this year.
The endof the old innocence.
The wounded “Sun” within us all.
The light often extinguished with dark lunar phases.
The fearful understanding that what we do has consequences.
And that these will come in an unpleasant way.
Making our decisions heavy burdens.
And our eventual surrender to Spirit.
So that we can receive the truth that was always there.
We are good enough.
Always have been.
Karma is a mere turn of the wheel within the cogs of time.
Designed by something far greater than us.
There is no punishment in justice, true justice.
For there is no right or wrong, only cause and effect.
Was what I experienced a past life?
Had I walked the trail of tears?
Was this why I chose existences of hardship and misfortune?
My ego mind, claiming stories for identities.
Was it a memory from the Earth.
My Mother asking my physical body to birth and release it from a level of awareness beyond “me”
Or was it my own imagination utilising this archetypal knowing to look at my own shadow.
My own fear.
The skin that had caused my spirit to almost break.
That I was alone.
In a world that didn’t understand me.
I have always supressed my emotions.
Like the ford I tried to avoid, I have continued to squeeze myself through hoops.
Mine and others.
And this year, qualifying, as a Soul Midwife by Spirit.
Delivering Pachamama and the wounds that have been here for far too long, I am deciding to play a different beat.
Soon we celebrate the return of the sun.
Death and re-birth.
The sacrificial spirit within us.
That went into the darkness to realise all is light.
And the other aspect of this year- Judgement.
The rising up beyond our own restrictions.
so we no longer reflect them onto others.
With this arrival I have decided to come down from my own Cross.
To realise the red road, the yellow road, all roads lead home- to the centre of all things.
The placenta of life, the beginning and end of creation.
The why behind it all!
Like my drum now hanging on the wall to dry, I am going to use this New moon to find what I need to birth my own rhythm.
Releasing myself from the sacrificial tree.
With huge gratitude to all the steps taken before me.
And the tears that have shed.
There is great opportunity this month.
To realise not only do we see from so many angles, but we create the life we allow ourselves.
To birth all that we in-vision!
A chance to release our own imposed crucifixions.
Open our one good eye, our third eye.
And fish in the subconscious knowing waters.
To catch the realisation, we are all divine communicators.
Not only can we acknowledge all perspectives, we can start to create our own!
It can be that easy.
We don’t have to push what we know.
Or who we are.
But become grounded in this.
From a higher vision.
That’s all we ever needed to see, through the eyes of the one heart.
The sacred one.